


All Music Is What Awakens from You When You Are Reminded by the Instruments

by polyamorous_polytheist



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamorous_polytheist/pseuds/polyamorous_polytheist
Summary: Dorothea Arnault, lead singer of Thee Black Eagles, was meant to be on a flight to Australia. Chicago's unpredictable weather had different plans. Yuri wanted to explore while they were stranded. Somehow, this leads Dorothea to a women who may very well be the love of her life.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Ferdinand von Aegir & Petra Macneary, Linhardt von Hevring & Petra Macneary
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this story. I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out, but I still think it is pretty good. If you see any flaws, please point them. Constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated.

**> >>Petra<<<**

Petra remembers the first time she heard English music in startling clarity. She had been just under ten years old – nine or maybe eight- when her parents had announced their plan to move to the United States. Petra didn’t understand.

She loved Mexico. Mexico had always been their home. For thousands of years her family had inhabited these grounds. She hadn’t understood why her parents wanted to leave. She hadn’t understood that the political climate was shaky at best or that her family was short on money.

Then Papa died. Mama wouldn’t tell her how. At the time, Petra was angry. She had a right to know. Her Papa was _dead_. The least Mama could do is tell her why he was gone. Now, she was grateful.

The night after Papa had died – almost twelve years ago now- Mama had come into Petra’s room and loudly announced that Petra was going to live with her cousins. Petra did not know her cousins. She did not even know of them.

The next afternoon, Petra’s few things had been shoved into two suitcases and a backpack. Three weeks later, Petra was on a flight to the United States of America. She wasn’t a citizen and wouldn’t be for several years. Glancing out of the tiny window on the flight was the last time she had seen Mexico.

Her mother’s brother was waiting for her when she landed. He was gruff looking man with a skinny white woman for a wife. His hands were huge when he offered them to carry her backpack. She kept it firmly on her shoulders.

When they’d arrived at their house, Petra had been greeted by eleven-year-old Caspar von Bergliez. Von Bergliez was not her mother’s maiden name. Her uncle, she’d realized, had attempted to erase the Mexican from himself. Caspar didn’t even speak Spanish. Petra didn’t speak English.

They were inseparable immediately. Maybe it was because they were family. Maybe it was because they were both bored. In all likelihood it was because they shared a bedroom. It doesn’t really matter now. What matters, is that Caspar showed her the first English music she’d ever heard.

The actual song was unimportant. Petra doesn’t even remember what it was. What was important was the way the words had lilted. The way the guitar was strummed. Just like the music she’d grown up with, it touched Petra’s soul in the most intimate way.

That was how Petra had started learning English. Lyric videos with Spanish captions. Of course, her uncle taught her plenty and so did the little brick schoolhouse where she and Caspar attended school, but music brought the language to life.

It wasn’t really a surprise, looking back, that Petra had ended up here. She sucks in a deep breath and hurries up the concrete steps of the college building, entirely unprepared for her fist music theory class. She has a feeling that this isn’t the bright all-American future her mother had wanted for her.

Not that she truly knew. Mama’s letters had stopped coming by Petra’s eleventh birthday. At first, Petra made excuses for why her Mama stopped writing back. Mama was busy. Her letter had gotten lost in the mail. Mama was on her way to the States right now and couldn’t write back.

Eventually, Petra had to accept the hard truth that her Mama was gone. Despite knowing this, Petra still inspected every piece of mail she received – even though she no longer lived with the von Bergliez family and Mama would have no idea what her new address was.

The cool air rushes around Petra as she steps into the classroom. Professor Eisner is sorting papers at her desk. Her hair has been dyed a deep shade of indigo and is tied in a tight bun atop her head. Black-rimmed glasses perch comfortably on her thin nose. She doesn’t look up as Petra scrambles into her seat.

The boy next to her – a tall lanky thing with long green hair- stares at her with surprise. He stretches and yawns before promptly ignoring her.

Byleth stands up and clears her throat. The class settles down eerily quickly. Petra takes a shaky breath and plasters on a smile. This is it. She’s made it. Well, not _made it,_ but she’s in college. That, she supposes, is a pretty good start.

**> >>Dorothea<<<**

When Dorothea first entered the foster care system, she did not have high hopes for her future. She wasn’t old enough to understand all the unfortunate statistics that surrounded foster care. She did however, understand that no one but babies ever left the group home. Looking back, Dorothea would say that she was baby, just not in terms of age.

Things weren’t all bad in the group home. Yuri was there, for one, which made things at the very least tolerable. Sure, the woman in charge of the group home was miserable. Sure, food and money were tight and some of the older kids made a trade ring for it. Sure drugs were smuggled in and out of the house at odd hours of the night, but she wasn’t on the streets anymore. There was a roof over her head.

In her teens, older men started to take notice of her. It didn’t take long to set up a tinder account with a fake age. It took even less time to sell her virginity. Yuri picked up on her ideas pretty quickly. Coincidentally, they had ended up with the same sugar daddy.

All too soon, Dorothea was back on the streets. Just like most of the other kids, she had aged out of the system. Fortunately, she and Yuri had saved enough money to get an apartment. It was in this apartment that Manuela found them.

She had, reasonably, been very angry to discover that her husband had not one but two sugar babies behind her back. Dorothea remembers the day with fondness. She had been teasing Yuri relentlessly after catching him singing Disney tunes in the shower.

The sound of the two young voices matching one another perfectly inside the run-down apartment had given Manuela pause. She was always on the lookout for talent, and it was hard to dismiss the pair’s vocals even with the rage bubbling in her blood.

It hurt Manuela more than she wanted to admit. Her husband, that cheating bastard, had found better singers than herself to take her place. It made her cry a bit at the door before knocking. It hurt Manuela even more to lock eyes with a brown-haired child. A _child_. Hanneman had been cheating on her with a pair of _children_.

Dorothea hadn’t hesitated to let Manuela in. Yuri had been holding a butcher’s knife with an appropriate amount of menace when she’d come inside. He’d situated himself firmly between Manuela and Dorothea – no matter how much Dorothea insisted that she could take care of herself.

Manuela had cried for forty minutes on their couch before fitfully explaining the situation. Both children looked suitably guilty. Neither apologized. “It was just a job,” Dorothea had said, “Just something to keep us afloat.”

The next morning, Dorothea found herself sitting in a classy office building speaking to a talent agent. Within the year, Dorothea and Yuri found themselves performing on _America’s Got Talent_ with three other young adults. The five called themselves an accidental hit. The world called them Thee Black Eagles.

People loved them. Suddenly their Twitter handles had blue checkmarks next to them. Their music videos went viral. Blurry photos of them appeared on tabloid covers. Poorly photoshopped pictures of them kissing popped up over the internet. Fanfiction was written, and, when suitably drunk, Yuri would open Ao3 and read fics aloud. On a dare, Bernadetta had once written a steamy fanfiction about herself and Hubert that had gotten thousands of reads.

Dorothea had resigned herself to a life without family exactly three days after she’d arrived at the group home. For years, she and Yuri had been on their own. And now there were exactly four people Dorothea would consider family:

Edelgard, the band’s guitarist, was fierce and passionate. Fans (especially lesbian fans) adored her. She’d been raised Catholic and her gay religious guilt brought a certain something to their music. She’d written most of their dark songs as well as all their unrequited romance songs.

Hubert, the drummer, was quiet and mysterious. He was the perfect stereotypical bad boy. Girls _loved_ him. He rarely spoke during interviews. He didn’t write any of their songs, but his drum skills were truly unmatched. He said that he had “a lot of pent up rage” that the drums managed to release.

Bernadetta, the piano player, was their sweetheart. She wrote nearly all of their songs. None of their fans had ever seen her face thanks to the ornate mask she wore on stage. She loved to scroll through twitter threads attempting to figure out what she looked like. Once in a while, she’d print out some wildly inaccurate fanart of herself and hang it on the fridge.

And, of course, Yuri.

Things were finally looking up.


	2. It Is Not The Violins and The Cornets

**> >>Petra<<<**

Linhardt yawns loudly and throws his arm around Petra’s shoulders, “So, did you do the homework?”

Petra shrugs him off, “Yes, Lin. I did the homework. No, you cannot be having it.”

Linhardt groans dramatically, “Oh, come on Petra! Pretty, pretty please?”

Petra rolls her eyes, “No.”

Linhardt huffs, “Fine. Leave me all alone. Abandon me. Don’t worry, I understand.”

“If you were not getting high every night, you would have time to be doing the homework.”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“Go ask Ferdinand if you are wanting the answers so badly.”

“Ferdinand would give me the longest lecture ever if he knew I was smoking pot instead of doing my schoolwork. I can hear him now: Linhardt! This is not a position befitting your stature! What would your parent’s think?! Let’s have a weekly study group!”

“Your Ferdinand impression is not a good one.”

Lin shrugs, “Perhaps not, but I think I got his stupid fake posh accent down.”

“You are having Ferdinand’s stupid fake posh accent anyways.”

Lin places a hand over his heart, “You wound me, Petra. _My_ accent is actually real.”

“No. It is not.”

Linhardt laughs, “Is this better? My real accent? All Texan charms that screams ‘I drive a tractor to school’?”

Petra giggles, “The fake accent is better.”

Linhardt winks, “Precisely.”

A raindrop splatters onto Linhardt’s glasses. He groans, “Just what I needed today. See you later Petra.”

He bumps shoulders with her and scurries off across campus to the dorm building. Petra shakes her head and drops her bag onto the grass besides the sidewalk. The cold Chicago rain covers her face and hair. She leans her head back, embracing the icy water pelting her cheek.

She lets out a content sigh and spreads her arms happily. Petra had always loved water in all its forms. Well, except snow. She could do without snow.

“Petra! You’ll catch a cold like this!”

Petra quickly forces herself into a normal position. Ferdinand was hurrying over to her, a concerned look on his face. He was already hurrying to remove his jacket, which both of them knew didn’t fit over Petra’s buff arms.

“Ferdinand. I am fine. I am not needing your coat. It will not be fitting anyway.”

“Nonsense! One must never leave a lady alone in the rain!” He protests.

Petra grabs his wrist when he tries to lay his coat over her, “Do not.”

He freezes, “Uh, yeah, right.”

Petra leans down and grabs her bag off the grass. Its damp and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t stopped in the rain. Hopefully her computer was all right. She swears as she notices the snowflakes clinging to the cloth.

“Ready for your first Chicago winter?” Ferdinand asks, tilting his head back to inspect the clouds above them.

“ _No._ ”

Ferdinand laughs, “I feel the same way. I’ll never get used to how awful the weather here is. It makes me miss Texas.”

Petra swallows and bites her tongue. She wants to remind Ferdinand that he could at least return to Texas. She could never return to Mexico.

Instead, she forces a small laugh and begins to walk towards her dorm, “See you later, Ferdinand!”

“Bye, Petra! Don’t get a cold!”

For a moment, Petra wants to get one just to spite him. Stupid Ferdinand. She wishes he _would_ go back to Texas. She pauses. That wasn’t right. Ferdinand is her friend. He always meant well, even though it made him come off as a bit of an incel sometimes.

Once she was safely in her dorm, she shook herself like a dog. It was an old habit she’d picked up from Caspar when they were kids. Tia had been determined to get the pair to quit, but it just strengthened their resolve. Sometimes, Petra wishes Tia had been successful in stopping them from doing their stupid jokes.

Her roommate was gone, as usual, so Petra wastes no time in peeling her water-logged clothes from her body and tossing them in the hamper. For a moment, she just stood nude in the center of the dorm, wringing water from her thick hair. Some of the water on the floor held Petra’s signature pinkish/purpleish hair dye.

Sighing, she forces herself to take a quick shower to chase away the lingering cold. Afterwards, she risks using her roommates Keurig to make a hot chocolate. She folds her legs up beneath herself in the chair by the window. As much as she dislikes the snow, it was damn fun to watch it fall.

**> >>Dorothea<<<**

Manuela was, regrettably, seconds away from committing murder in the O’Hare International Airport. Her hair was a wreck and her skin had turned a pale cherry from anger. The poor airline worker she was yelling at looked ready to faint.

“There has to be something you can do! We need to be in Australia _tomorrow!_ ”

“Ma’am, please. You aren’t the only one that’s upset about this. I’m terribly sorry, but with the storm front coming in, we can’t let airplanes leave right now. We’ll refund you completely.”

Manuela rubs her forehead aggressively, leaving a pair of small pink marks from her fingers, “Unbelievable!”

“Manuela,” Edelgard says, “perhaps its better if we get a hotel and wait out the storm. We can hold an Instagram Live show to make up for disappointing our fans in Australia.”

“I must agree with Edelgard,” Hubert agrees, “It is dreadful in this airport and I’m sure we would all be much more comfortable elsewhere.”

“Fine,” Manuela snaps. She reaches into the pockets of her fur coat and pulls out her phone, dialing a number almost immediately. She speaks into the phone for a second before hanging up. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.

“Right. The Peninsula Chicago has rooms ready and waiting for us. The car will be waiting for you outside. I have to powder my nose.”

Manuela stalks away. Dorothea stifles a laugh as Manuela’s heels wobble and she nearly falls. A few other travelers give Manuela nasty looks as she swears loudly.

Bernadetta grabs Dorothea’s wrist, “Come on. We don’t want to keep Manuela waiting when she’s like this. I don’t want to make her madder.” Dorothea passes the probably traumatized airline worker a one-hundred-dollar bill before allowing Bernie to lead her out of the airport.

Edelgard and Hubert had already claimed to two middle-row seats of the sketchy-looking van Manuela had somehow managed to find. Yuri was leaning against the back window, leaving Dorothea and Bernie with the middle and aisle back seats. For the sake of being polite, Dorothea presses up against Yuri.

A few minutes later, Manuela climbs into the passenger seat and slams the door. Dorothea and her fellow bandmates share looks. No one attempts to talk to their manager when she is like this. Edelgard was already logged into the official Thee Black Eagles twitter, rapidly sending apology tweets and reschedule notices.

After a silent thirty-minute drive, the van pulls into The Peninsula parking lot. Manuela goes inside and returns with their keys, “Go on up to your rooms. I’ll have your luggage sent up in a jiffy.”

Once they’re out of the car, Yuri stretches dramatically and yawns, “This snowstorm is just what the doctor ordered.”

Edelgard snorts, “If you value your head, you won’t let Manuela hear you say that.”

Hubert nods, “It would be a shame if she were to kill you. If only because we need our backup singer.”

Yuri glares at him, “You’d just be upset that Manuela got around to doing it before you did. Serial killer in the making.”

Hubert’s lip twitches as though he might smile, “Serial killers do have a nasty habit of getting famous. If this music gig doesn’t work out, I might give it a try. I’d get you and Dorothea first.”

“Hubie! Why me?” Dorothea protested as they entered the hotel.

“Well, Edelgard is safe,” He responds.

“Obviously,” Yuri agrees with an eyeroll.

“As is Bernadetta. That leaves only two people to kill as revenge for not becoming famous.”

Yuri looks vaguely alarmed, “Guess we better make sure you’re an A-lister.”

“Oh, stop,” Bernadetta whines, “Hubert won’t kill anyone. He’s a big softy.”

“To you, maybe,” Yuri replies.

The door dings and slides open. Edelgard elbows her way past the others and into the hallway, “While you guys discuss how to get away with murder or whatever, _I’m_ going to go take a warm bath.”

“I’m gonna have to agree with Her Highness. I do love a good jacuzzi and a joint this fancy is bound to have one somewhere. Plus, I don’t really want to hang around my future killer,” Yuri says.

“Hubie, Bernie, I hope you have an excellent evening,” Dorothea says politely before stepping out of the elevator and following Edelgard and Yuri down the hallway.

It’s still something of a shock for Dorothea that she can afford fancy hotels like this. Her suite is bigger than her and Yuri’s whole apartment had been. It smells nicer too. Sighing, she allows herself to fall onto her back in the center of the bed. It feels like forever since she’s had a moment to herself, but such is the life of a star. She rolls onto her stomach and buries her face in the soft pillows. They smell like high-quality laundry detergent.

A soft rapping sounds on the door and Dorothea hurries to open it. A flustered looking employee is holding her suitcases, “Here you are, Ms. Arnault! It’s an honor to have you staying with us tonight. I hope we meet your every expectation!

Dorothea smiles and takes her bags, “I’m sure you will. Thank you for bringing up my luggage. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” She hands the wide-eyed man a fifty. He tucks it into his pocket, thanks her, and hurries off to tend to other customers.

Dorothea doesn’t bother to unpack. She has no idea how long they are going to be staying and, knowing Manuela, there was a definite chance that the band would be boarding a plane to Australia first thing in the morning.

She fishes out her pajamas and heads to the restroom. Yuri was right. There was a jacuzzi. Maybe this was what the doctor ordered she thinks as she slides into the bubbling water a moment later.

She hopes she doesn’t fall asleep and drown. It would be very inconvenient to do so.

**> >>Petra<<<**

Byleth cancels classes because, “you’ve all seemed very stressed lately and we deserve a few mental health days.” That really meant: “I’m cold. You’re cold. There’s snow. No one wants to leave their rooms. So, don’t.”

Petra is grateful. The cold seems to wriggle its way into her very bones and chill her marrow. She feels brittle all the way through. She keeps herself curled up beneath a mountain of blankets with stolen hot chocolate and re-runs of _America’s Got Talent._

Which makes it all the more annoying when Ferdinand e-mails. The subject reads, “My Dearest Petra” in typical Ferdinand fashion. Petra considers not opening it and telling him later that she didn’t get it at all. Tia raised her to be a better person than that. She opens the stupid e-mail.

_Petra,_

_Being the music nerd that you are, I am sure you are already aware that Thee Black Eagles are performing at Thalia Hall tomorrow evening. Because the show is so impromptu, tickets have not been announced yet. (If they had been released, you would not be receiving this e-mail as they would already be sold out.)_

_However, being a von Aegir, I have friends in high places. I was gifted two tickets to this exclusive show, and I assure you they are the best seats in the house. As you are surely aware, Linhardt, despite being the most intelligent freshman on campus, is lacking intelligence and is not a fan of Thee Black Eagles’ genius song writing. Of course, I’m sure you want to attend._

-Ferdinand von Aegir

Petra has never been so glad to open an e-mail. The contents of said e-mail stop her from thinking too hard about why Ferdinand didn’t just text her all of that instead. Maybe texting is too casual for him.

A moment later, while she’s considering what to wear, her roommate stumbles in the door. Hilda’s arms are wrapped firmly around some poor man’s head. Petra clears her throat. Hilda’s newest lover, A buff looking man with a mullet pulls back from her. Petra thinks she had a class with him last semester.

“Oh, Petra. I thought you had class,” Hilda says. The pink-haired girl has no sign of embarrassment on her face.

“Professor Eisner cancelled due to weather.”

“Oh, well. I would clear out if I were you. Well, unless you want to join us?”

Hilda’s latest boytoy grins, “Yeah, as long as you’re here, you might as well have some fun with us.”

Petra is already out of bed and grabbing her purse and some clothes from the floor. She hopes they’re hers, “No thank you. I’ll see you later. Have fun. Don’t get pregnant.”

Hilda scoffs, “I _can’t_ get pregnant dumbass.”

Petra blushes, embarrassed at having forgotten, “Well, don’t get gonorrhea or something then.”

“Are you implying that Balthus is disease-ridden?”

Petra considers him for a moment, “His mullet might be.”

“Hey!” Balthus says.

Before the dorm’s door can slam, Petra hears Hilda assuring Balthus that she loves his hair. Especially pulling it. Petra chooses to pretend that she didn’t hear it.

Once she’s changed into some clothes, Petra realizes that she’s forgotten a coat _and_ shoes. Great. She takes a moment to steady herself outside the door before throwing it open. Hilda doesn’t even look up at her. She’s far too preoccupied using her skirt and panties to tie Balthus’s hands above his head. Petra snatches up her coat, a pair of fuzzy socks, and her Uggs.

“You know,” Hilda says casually, as though she isn’t about to be balls deep in some frat boy, “it isn’t too late to join us.”

Balthus is already panting beneath her, “Yeah. Join us pretty girl.”

Petra grimaces, “I will not be joining you.”

“A shame,” Hilda replies and waves Petra out the door.

Petra hopes that she will soon forget everything she just witnessed. She’s also increasingly glad that she has no classes with Balthus. It would be rather embarrassing to see him sitting in the row in front of her, and know that he was getting railed by Hilda at every opportunity.

When she first steps outside of the warm building, she curses Hilda aloud. She curses her again when her breath turns white on the air. She shivers and hurries to the bus stop, hoping against hope that the next bus will be there soon. She wishes she had gloves.

After a bitter seven minutes, the bus rolls into the stop and Petra scurries on board. The bus is full, and the breath of strangers keeps the interior far warmer than the exterior. Petra rubs her hands together gratefully and takes a seat beside a buff blonde-haired woman.

The woman side eyes her, “You’re not from around here.”

Petra’s defenses raise and she shoves her hands in her pockets. Chicago might be a pretty liberal area, but there’s always the chance that this woman hates Mexicans and would like to see Petra dead in a ditch. She wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. Blonde women were always the most racist. Why did she choose to sit here?

The woman grins, “Everyone from around here is used to the cold. This is hardly a chill for us. You must be from somewhere down south.”

Petra considers saying, “Yeah. No shit.” She keeps her mouth shut. The woman seems to get the hint and turns away from Petra. Petra rubs her fingers together inside her coat pockets and hopes she gets used to the cold eventually too.

The bus comes to a stop and Petra scrambles to get off. She has no idea where they’ve stopped, but she doesn’t want to spend anymore time sitting next to the blonde woman. She curses Hilda again. With her luck, she’s probably ended up in the bad side of town.

The bus pulls away from the station and Petra wishes she hadn’t gotten off. Whatever. She’s survived worse than a little cold. She takes inventory of her surroundings. She’s near the Riverwalk. That’s not too bad. Touristy, but not bad. There has got to be a nice coffee shop with Wi-Fi around here somewhere. She ends up in Fairgrounds Coffee and Tea. A giant _F_ filled with lightbulbs illuminates parts of the shop. The bittersweet scent of coffee sits heavy on her tongue and she hums lightly. The warm air slips beneath her skin and her bones begin to thaw.

The barista, a thin pale boy with silvery hair, takes her order. His nametag says Ashe. Petra only notices because she thinks his name matches his hair. She sinks into a chair and pulls her phone out of her purse, content, for now at least, to scroll through twitter.

**> >>Dorothea<<<**

“Rise and shine, Ladybird!”

Dorothea groans and swats at Yuri, “Go away.”

He rolls on top of her and presses their faces close together, “We’re going on an adventure!”

“You’re crushing my tits.”

He glances down her shirt, making eye contact with her squished breasts, “Oops.”

“Get. Off.”

“Fine, fine.”

Yuri sits up. His legs are still parted on either side of Dorothea’s hips. His butt is planted firmly on her knees.  
“That isn’t off.”

“Are you willing to go out with me?”

“No. You’re a faggot and I’m a dyke. It’ll never work out.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not what I was asking, and you know it. Come on, we always wanted to explore the world. Now we’re in _Chicago_ and you want to lay around. I will not allow it.”

Dorothea sighs, “Fine. At least let me get dressed.”

Finally, Yuri climbs off of the bed. He snags a hair tie from the nightstand and pulls his hair up into a bun.

“You have your own, you know.”

“I lost my last one and the new ones aren’t stretched properly.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes and gets out of bed. Her silk pajama bottoms brush against her legs and she’s abruptly very glad she shaved. Yuri flops back down on her bed.

“You’re a menace.”

Yuri shrugs, “Hurry up. I wanna go see things.”

Dorothea tosses her shirt at him and stalks into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerges. She’s wearing thick knit pants with a long flowy red shirt – A classic Dorothea style, but not one she wears when the band is on tour.

Yuri hands her a coat. The pockets bulge slightly from the weight of a hat and gloves. She accepts it gratefully. Yuri tugs on his own coat, a dramatic purple duster, and covers his signature violet hair with a hat. If she didn’t know better, she would never guess that he was famous. She hopes no one else will guess either.

“So Yurikins,” she asks as they sidle into the elevator, “where are we going?”

Yuri shrugs, “Who cares? Let’s just explore!”

“Is anyone else coming?”

He shakes his head, “Nah. Didn’t invite them. As much as I love the band, its been a while since me and you got some one-on-one time and I kinda missed it.”

“Oh Yurikins, you’re so sweet!”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.”

The elevator tings and Yuri grabs her hand. She gives his pale palm a gentle squeeze and follows him out onto the street. He picks a direction, seemingly at random but with Yuri you can never tell, and sets a brisk pace.

Dorothea has to admit that Chicago is impressive. The snow is less so, but, having grown up in the Midwest, she’s used to it. Yuri doesn’t speak for a long time. Just like when they were kids, he prefers to move in silence and speak only when they’ve arrived at a destination. Considering Yuri has no idea where he’s going, Dorothea figures she shouldn’t count on a conversation.

Fifteen minutes later, the pair are standing on a bridge watching the Chicago River flow beneath them. Yuri leans over the railing and grins up at her, “Do you think it’s like the Hudson Bay?”

Dorothea sighs, “I certainly hope not, but I suspect so.”

Yuri nods and pulls a sucker from the inside of his jacket. It’s orange, his favorite flavor, “Unfortunately, we humans are so proud of our technology and cities that we abuse the earth we rose from.” He carefully tucks the sucker wrapper into his pocket.

Dorothea’s stomach rumbles, “Inopportune timing, as always. Want to find a coffee shop or something?”

Yuri pulls the sucker out of his mouth, “I could go for a coffee and a muffin or something.”

Dorothea pulls her phone out and begins to google where the nearest coffee shop is. Yuri snatches her phone.

“Nope. We’re exploring. No destination. Just keep your eyes peeled.”

Dorothea rolls said eyes, “You’re so irritating.”

Yuri didn’t hear her as he was already across the bridge. Dorothea huffs irritably and hurries after him. After passing several coffee places, Yuri finally walks into one: Fairgrounds Coffee and Tea. It’s homey and reminds her a bit of the coffee shop Yuri had worked at for a few years during high school. Maybe that’s why he picked this one, to remind him of the times before they were famous.

The café is mostly empty and smells heavenly. The pair both order sweet, fruity teas from the pale-haired barista and sink into some nearby chairs.

Once, during Dorothea’s sophomore year of college, her grade had gone on a trip to a bird and wolf sanctuary near Yellowstone. Everyone else had hung around the wolf enclosures, teasing the beasts and howling. She had discovered the raptor section of the park and an American Kestrel called Alina. Dorothea had refused to leave the bird until they had to get back on the bus. It was this encounter that led to Yuri’s nickname for her: Ladybird.

Somehow, Dorothea thought, Alina had flown to Chicago and turned into a woman. It was simply the only logical explanation for the other woman in the café. She was stunning and Dorothea felt slightly guilty for breathing her air. Naturally, Yuri caught her staring.

“Whatcha looking at, Ladybird?” he whispered.

Dorothea kicked him beneath the table and looked away from the woman. After a few minutes of silence, Yuri spoke again.

“Aren’t you gonna talk to her? Get her number?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “With our profession, romance isn’t really an option. Unless I want to get with Edelgard, which is not something I want to do.”

Yuri sighed, “Guess, I’ll have to wing-man.”

“Yuri don’t you dare!” Dorothea whisper-yelled.

Yuri ignored her and pushed out his chair, which caused an awful squeak to fill the air. The woman raised her head and once again, Dorothea was sure she had to be Alina. Those eyes were just as deep and deadly as the hawk’s eyes had been.

Yuri held out his hand to her, “How’ya doing? My friend thinks you’re gorgeous but she’s an absolute disaster at flirting, so I have to give her a bit of help.”

The woman blushed and chanced a glance towards Dorothea, “Oh.”

Dorothea considered dumping her tea over herself. Perhaps it would be hot enough to kill her. She waved a little.

“Anyways,” Yuri continued, “I’m going out for a smoke break. You two should get to know each other.”

Yuri didn’t smoke. Lung cancer was one of his biggest fears. The woman was looking at her with Alina’s eyes. She beckoned Dorothea over. Dorothea sunk into the chair across from the woman.

“I am Petra,” The woman said softly. She was blushing and stirring her coffee more than was probably necessary.

“I’m Dorthey,” Dorothea lied. Her name wasn’t terribly common, and she didn’t need to get caught by this gorgeous woman as being a popstar.

Petra smiles at her. Dorothea wasn’t sure weather she wanted to stab Yuri or take him out for drinks tonight.

“You are being very pretty,” Petra whispers softly.

Dorothea blushes. For a moment, she’s jealous of Petra’s dark skin. Surely Petra’s cheeks don’t flush cherry at everything, “Thank you.” For an awkward moment the two sit silently at the table.

“So, are you going to college?” Petra asks.

Dorothea curses her bad luck, “No. I’m working on my career right now. It’s not something you really have to go to school for. What about you?”

She nods, “Yes. I am going to a school that is for the arts. I am being a music major.”

Dorothea grins, “You are truly a woman after my own heart!”

Petra grins, “You like music?”

“More than anything! It’s one of the things that got me through my years in foster care.”

Petra beams, “Music is what taught me English at first.”

“That’s cool. Where are you from?”

“Mexico. I was living there for eleven years.”

“I’ve been to Mexico twice. It’s gorgeous.”

Petra smiles wistfully, “Yes. It is.”

“What’s your favorite kind of music?” Dorothea asks, decidedly changing the subject.

Petra brightens a bit, “Anything. Well, anything with lyrics. I am enjoying words the most.”

“I would agree with that. I like love songs. Sweet and slow. Makes me long for someone. It makes me a little sad, sometimes.”

Petra smiles, “Would you be liking to go to the art museum with me? I would be liking that greatly.”

Dorothea grins, blushes, and tucks a strand of hair behind her hair, “I would love that! Thank you, Petra!”

Petra pulls her coat on, “Let us be going.”

Dorothea tugs her hat out of her pockets and pulls it over her long hair. She offers Petra a hand. Petra hesitates but takes it. She smiles softly, subconsciously tucking her teeth behind her lips. Dorothea wants to hold that lip between her teeth.

As soon as they leave the little coffee shop, Dorothea spots a pack of Camels sitting on the ground. Yuri had purchased the cigarettes years ago – during their time in the group home. He’d leave it around for Dorothea to find and, in between the cigarettes, there would be a secret message. She grabbed the package off the cement. Petra wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t smoke. They’re Yuri’s. He doesn’t smoke either,” Dorothea assured her.

“Why is he having them?”

Dorothea laughs, “It’s kind of a long story. Watch.”

Petra did watch. In reality, she was watching Dorothea’s slim fingers as they slip into the box. Slowly, Dorothea removes a folded slip of paper.

“Ladybird,” she reads aloud, “I’m heading back to the hotel so you and that pretty girl can finish up whatever it is you’re doing. I won’t tell Manuela where you are. You owe me.”

Petra’s eyes follow Dorothea’s beautiful hands as they slip the package of Camels into her pocket.

“I am seeing. It is a secret messaging system.”

Dorothea nods, “Yeah. Yuri came up with it back when we were in foster care.”

“Wouldn’t the other kids be trying to steal it?”

“No. Yuri was kind of in charge of our group home. The other kids didn’t really mess with us.”

“That is a good thing?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“It is being a long walk,” Petra says, “Is that okay?”

Dorothea grins, “I can get us an Uber, if you’d rather?”

“I don’t have much money.”

“No worries. I’ve got it.”

“Taxis here are being very expensive.”

“It’s fine, Petra. I promise.”

The two women chat for a while before the Uber pulls up. Petra sighs gratefully as the slip into the minivan, “I do not like the cold. It is my first winter in Chicago. I was not expecting it.”

“At least you’ll be able to prepare for the future now,” Dorothea rations.

The Museum of Contemporary Art looms over the street and the Uber stops. Dorothea gives him a tip and slips out of the car. Petra shivers and exhales a white breath. They quickly pay their entrance fees.

“This place is feeling like the old temples in Mexico. Holy,” Petra murmurs, “It feels like some old god has entered here and is making this his home.” She spreads her arms and breathes deep, inhaling the unique scent that seems to hang around every museum.

Dorothea hides her grin in her hands. It’s an adorable action and an even cuter theory. Petra grabs her hand and tugs her forward, “Come on!”

Dorothea has never been somewhere so stunning. The constant travel leaves very little time to appreciate the surroundings. Unless it’s a fundraiser and there are a million cameras around her. Right now, she’s just herself. And she’s being led through a gorgeous museum by very excited and very beautiful woman. It’s nice.

“This,” Petra announces, “is being my favorite. Water After All.”

Nearly four hours later, the two women stumble out of the museum. Dorothea feels lighter than air and brighter than the sun. She can’t remember the last time she was able to just be a normal young adult. She can’t wait to tell Yuri about it.

Petra smiles up at Dorothea, “I know you are not staying here long, but I would be liking you to have my phone number.”

She passes Dorothea a small slip of paper. Dorothea beams. She’s smiled more today than she has in a long time, “Could I, um, could I give you a goodbye kiss?”

Petra bites her lip and averts her eyes, “I would be liking that greatly.”

Dorothea is so glad that she can finally bite that perfect bottom lip.


	3. It Is Not The Oboe Nor The Beating Drums

**> >>Petra<<<**

Petra isn’t even cold as she walks back to the dorms. She keeps running her tongue against her lip. Her saliva is freezing to it, but she doesn’t care. The cold stings give her ample excuses to lick at the spots Dorthey kissed.

Dorthey was a fantastic kisser. She had been a bit rough but in a playful sort of way. Petra could still remember her soft voice saying that Petra had been begging to have her lips bitten all day. It made Petra flush and grow hot. She _really_ hoped Hilda and Balthus weren’t still going at it in her dorm.

Thankfully, her dorm was empty when she stepped inside. A new pair of fuzzy mittens and socks were laid carefully on her pillow along with a note from Hilda.

_Sorry you had to see Balthus all needy like that! Silly boy can’t get enough of me. I figured you deserved some compensation. Remember, you’re always welcome to join us. ; )_

_-xoxo Hilda_

Petra threw the note away. She was keeping the socks and mittens though. She wasn’t about to turn away extra warmth just because Hilda kept inviting her to have threesomes. She fell backward onto her bed and touched her lips. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Groaning, she tugged it out. Linhardt’s name lit up the screen. Petra took a breath to settle herself and answered.

“Hello Lin.”

“Hey, Petra. Are you doing anything tonight? Ferdinand told me you’re going to that awful concert tomorrow night, but what about tonight?”

Petra seriously considered telling to Linhardt to leave her alone. She was a bit _worked up_ from her date with Dorthey. However, she also desperately wanted to tell someone about her day and Linhardt was secretly a hopeless romantic and would go positively wild over her story.

“I am not doing anything tonight. Why?”

“I’m bored. Wanna come hang out at my dorm? My roommate is out tonight – something about a D&D game – and left his Switch behind. Mario kart tournament?”

“If you are willing to lose, I will be there soon.”

“You’re going down, Petra.”

Petra hangs up and reluctantly pulls her coat on. Hopefully Linhardt’s dorm will be warm. She thinks that he smuggled in enough candles to burn down an apartment complex, so he had better light one for her. She hurries out of the dorm   
Linhardt’s dorm always smelled nice. He and his roommate where the “spiritual not religious” type so there was always a surplus of warm smelling incense hanging in the air. Today it smells like cinnamon, though Petra is unsure if that’s from the incense or the half-empty bottle of Fireball on the floor. Lin destroys Petra in Mario Kart but that’s alright. They both knew he would.

“So,” Petra says over a takeout pizza, “I went on a date today.”

Linhardt looks up from his pizza with a twinkle in his eyes, “Oh really? And who was the lucky one?”  
“Her name is Dorthey. I was meeting her at a coffee shop after Hilda kicked me out of the dorm.”

“A meet-cute.”

“She is being very cute, yes.”

Linhardt laughs, “That’s not what a meet-cute is. A meet-cute is when you meet someone randomly. You weren’t looking for her and she wasn’t looking for you, but you met and went on a date anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, what did you do?”

“She was with her brother, Yuri. He leaves us along and we have coffee together. Then we are going to the art museum. She is being very interesting.”

“That’s such a Petra thing to do.”

“What are you meaning?”

“You took a cute girl to a _museum_.”

“Museums are cool!”

Linhardt laughs, “Rock bands and bongs are cool. Museums aren’t.”

“Are you ever thinking about anything but weed?”

He shrugs, “I smoke weed _because_ I think about other things. That’s kind of the point.

“Anyways. I gave her my telephone number.”

“Has she texted you?”

“No…”

Linhardt yawns, “She’s probably just busy. I’m about to be busy sleeping, so you can see yourself out.”

“You are not being a good host, Linhardt.”

“Cool. Night Petra.”

Petra flicks the side of his head but gets up, “Good night, Linhardt.”

She considers sleeping in the dorm hallway when she realizes she’s going to have to walk home in the cold.

**> >>Dorothea<<<**

Yuri is laying on her bed, grinning like a shark when she returns to the hotel. He’s almost naked and his long hair has been long removed from its bun.

“So, how was your date?”

Dorothea removes his box of cigarettes from her pocket and tosses it at him. He catches it in one hand and tosses it onto the floor next to his pile of clothes

“It was good. Great, maybe. She gave me her phone number.”

Yuri’s grin gets impossibly wider and his eyes twinkle, “And it never would have happened without your best wingman. When are we going out for drinks?”

Drothea pulls off her shirt and throws it at him, “You, sir, are pushing your luck.”

“I had to deal with Manuela asking where you were. Drinks is the least you could do for me. We’ve got a concert tomorrow night by the way.”

Dorothea kicks of her pants, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Edelgard was not pleased with you. She wanted to get in a few hours of practice, but our lead vocalist was off skirt-chasing.”

“Yuri, you are really pressing your luck. And get out of my room.”

Yuri shrugs, “What are you gonna do? Hit me? Better make it count. Better kill me in one shot.”

“The only thing that would happen if I hit you would be you getting a boner. Considering you’re wearing only boxers; I’d rather not do that.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, “It isn’t that easy to turn me on.”

Dorothea raises one eyebrow. Yuri closes his mouth.

There’s a knock at the door. Dorothea sighs. She had just been reaching for the clasp on her bra and was now required by society to keep it on.

Dorothea opens the door and finds herself staring at the top of Edelgard’s head. Goddess, Dorothea is glad she isn’t that short.

“Where,” Edelgard asks, ignoring Dorothea’s partial nudity, “have you been?”

“On a date,” Dorothea says casually.

For a moment, Dorothea watches the gears spin in Edelgard’s head.

“Anything song-worthy?” Edelgard asks.

“Not everything needs to be a song, Edie. Can a girl not go on a date without writing a song about it?”

Edelgard rolls her eyes, “If you don’t want to write a song based on the way her voice sounds, or how her hair feels, or how she looks and kisses after the date; don’t go on a second date.”

“You’re ridiculous. Come in, I’d rather that the workers didn’t see me in my panties.”

Edelgard brushes past Dorothea into the hotel room, “But really, if you can’t write a song about her after the first date, she’s not worth it.”

“I feel like this is a ploy to get a song for our next album.”

Edelgard laughs, “I can give you legitimate advice while also having an ulterior motive.”

“Amen to that,” Yuri calls from the bed.

Edelgard grins, “See? Yuri agrees with me.”

“Yuri’s opinions are shit. Don’t listen to him.”

“Hey!”

“So, what was she like?” Edelgard asks. She pushes herself up onto the television stand and leans against the flat screen.

“Well, she took me to an art museum.”

“That’s a fantastic name for our next EP. ‘She Took Me to an Art Museum.’ It has a nice ring to it,” Edelgard says.

Dorothea groans, “I hate to admit that you’re right.”

“The whole album could be comparing women to the various works of art! It’ll be a hit for sure. Especially with our queer audience.”

“What other audience do we have?” Yuri asks.

“Me, you and Hubert could write all the songs.”

“Hey, men can and should be compared to artwork too,” Yuri says. 

“Yeah but the name of the EP is ‘ _She_ Took me to An Art Museum.’”

“We can change it to ‘ _They_ Took me to An Art Museum.’”

“Oh my Goddess. We are not writing an entire album based on a single date. Besides, didn’t you want to hear about Petra?”

“Of course. We’re writing an _EP_ based on a single date. And yeah, we want to hear about Petra,” Edelgard corrects.  
“She used to live in Mexico and her hair is _purple_.”

“Eh. I would have called her hair pink.”

Dorothea glares at Yuri, “ _You_ didn’t go on a date with her.”

“Fine, fine. Keep talking, Ladybird.”

“Right. She’s a music major and we went to an art museum. That’s kind of it, I guess. I mean, her lips were fantastic and the perfect shape for biting.”

“Kinky,” Yuri mutters.

“Give us the _details_ Dorothea,” Edelgard says, “Did she whimper when you bit her lip?”

Dorothea curses her pale skin as she flushes red, “We aren’t discussing this.”

Yuri and Edelgard share a look.

“That’s a yes,” Yuri decides.

Dorothea decides to kick both of them out of her room.

**> >>Petra<<<**

Petra makes a mental note to never let Ferdinand drive her anywhere ever again. Hell, she’d take an over-priced taxi before she’d get in his fancy car again. The man refused to stay in one lane. It was faster, he said, to bob and weave between traffic. Petra highly doubted that, but she had never driven before so who was she to say?

“Ready for the best night of your life?!” Ferdinand practically screams as he turns into a nearby parking garage.

Petra glares at him, “With your driving, there was almost not a tonight at all.”

Ferdinand rolls his eyes, “It’s fine. Now come on! Thee Black Eagles await!”

Petra’s heart thumps excitedly in her chest. She unclicks her seatbelt and climbs out of Ferdinand’s stupid fancy car. The night air is cold against her exposed midriff, reminding Petra that a crop-top and skirt may not have been the best decision for the evening.

Ferdinand’s foot taps obnoxiously against the concrete, “Hurry up!”

“The show is not starting soon. It will be fine.”

“The sooner we get there, the sooner we can sit down.”

“I was thinking that Thalia Hall was standing only?”

“Unless you get balcony seats,” Ferdinand says with a grin.

Petra rolls her eyes, but she’s secretly glad that she won’t have to stand all night, “Of course you are buying the expensive seats.”

Ferdinand smacks her arm and tugs her along the street. Thalia Hall looms over the street, a mass of white stone and dark shingles. Ferdinand is vibrating with excitement. He claps his hands together, giggling. Petra has never seen Ferdinand like this, and she hopes she never sees this again. It’s hideous.

As they’re climbing the stairs to the balcony, Petra’s phone buzzes against her thigh. Goddess above does she love skirts with pockets. Her heart hammers against her ribs when she sees the contact name: _Dorthey._ She’s so distracted by it that she misses a step. She would’ve eaten shit had Ferdinand not caught her.

“You alright?”

“I am fine. Thank you.”

Ferdinand nods, “Course. Now hurry up!”

The second her butt makes contact with the seat, Petra is on her phone. The text is just a simple “hey.” All lowercase. No punctuation. Petra has no idea how to respond. Of course, Ferdinand notices her staring at her phone.

“She texted you!”

Petra blushes, “I am not knowing what to say.”

Ferdinand laughs, “Maybe start by saying hi.”

Petra does just that. A second later, Dorthey’s reply comes through.

_I’m shit at texting so you’ll have to forgive me. Wyd?_

“Ferdinand, what does w-y-d mean?”

“What’re you doing.”

“I’m texting Dorthey.”

“No, w-y-d means what’re you doing.”

“Oh.”

_I am at a concert. I am waiting for it to start. What are you doing?_

_oh cool i have to go now but i will text you in a while_

_Alright._

“Ferdinand, I do not think she is liking to text me.”

Petra shows Ferdinand her phone. He quickly skims the texts.

“Maybe if she contacts you again, you can call her.”

“Calling is being much easier than texting.”

The lights dim and the opener, a trio called STAG, comes on stage. They’re not bad necessarily, but Petra doesn’t like them. The words are too fast, and she struggles to understand them. The drums are too loud and the lead singer, Claude, switches between rapping and singing. All in all, the performance is strange and leaves an uncomfortable taste in Petra’s mouth.

After maybe half-an-hour, STAG goes off stage and the crew begins to set up for the main attraction. Her heart is beating so loudly. She’s certain everyone else can hear it. Seemingly out of nowhere, a drumbeat picks up. It’s ominous and abruptly the only sound in the hall. A single spotlight flickers to life over a set of black drums. Hubert’s signature bridge piercing glints in the light. The crowd goes wild.

Petra has never understood the hype surrounding Hubert. Both male and female fans seem to adore him. Petra has seen hundreds of tweets talking about how wonderful and mysterious he is. Petra thinks that he’s just a guy who wears all black and has a bad haircut.

A guitar rift picks up and suddenly Edelgard is on stage. Petra _does_ understand the hype around Edelgard. She can rock high-heel boots and a bloodred dress and cape. Not to mention the _horns_. No one seems to know how she manages to weave realistic looking ram horns into her hair. Some people seem to think she’s actually a demon. Christians are not a fan, and that seems to push Edelgard to make the horns more and more extravagant. Petra wishes she was close enough to see Edelgard’s fingers plucking at the guitar.

The piano comes to life next. Bernadetta sits on the bench. Her bare thighs are touching the classy black leather because she’s wearing such a short purple dress. An ornate golden mantle covers her collarbones. Thick gold silk covers her head and hair from view and an ornate purple butterfly mask covers her face. Just like all Thee Black Eagles fans, Petra would die to know what Bernadetta looks like beneath the mask.

Yuri’s baritone voice surrounds the crowd from all sides thanks to the hidden speakers in the walls and floor. He appears on stage, completely greyscale except for the beginning of his cape which shines a magnificent red. His hair is braided in an old Viking style and the silver beads catch the light and send it flying around the hall.

All at once the sounds converge into the opening of their first ever hit: “White Clouds.” Dorothea appears on stage singing the soprano harmony. Her dress – a beautiful maroon- brushes against the dirty stage. Lush hair falls down over her breasts and brushes against her silver corset. Petra doesn’t take her eyes off Dorothea for the rest of the show.

The show finishes with “To the End of a Dream,” an impressive vocal battle between Dorothea, who represents the oppression of the Catholic church, and Edelgard, who represents gay youth. It’s a stunning piece and Petra listened to it constantly when it first came out. While the rest of the band heads offstage, Edelgard takes the stage one last time and thanks everyone for coming.

Petra and Ferdinand sit in their seats for nearly an hour before Ferdinand finally stands. Hardly anyone is still in the hall. Petra wonders why they stayed for so long, but she really doesn’t care. Her body is still quavering with excitement.

Ferdinand takes her hand and leads her down out of the balcony. He takes a wrong turn. Petra doesn’t even notice. She’s babbling something about the concert. A guard stops them, and Petra suddenly realizes just how far they are from the front of the hall.

“I’m afraid fans aren’t allowed back here. I’ll escort you to the gates.”

“Come on Jeritza, you know me,” Ferdinand says.

The man’s ice blue eyes scan the pair for a moment, “And who is with you?”

“This is my friend Petra. I told Hubert we would be coming.”

Jeritza steps aside, “Go quickly.”

Ferdinand leads Petra past him and picks up the pace.

“Ferdinand, what is happening?” Petra asks. Her voice is pinched.

“Well, I told you I only got these tickets because I have friends in high places. We’re going to see my friends.”

“You are friends with _Thee Black Eagles_?!”

He shrugs, “Mostly just Hubert and Edelgard. I’ve met the others a few times, but I went to high school with those two.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

They stop at a door and Ferdinand knocks. The sound of shuffling fills the air and the door swings open. Hubert is much taller than he looks on stage. His dark eyes are wide with still-pumping adrenaline from the show. 

“Ferdinand…and friend,” He says.

“Hubert…and band,” Ferdinand replies.

Hubert opens the door a bit more and invites them in. The band is in various stages of costuming. Edelgard is dragging a brush through her horn-less hair in front of a mirror. Dorothea is taking off her makeup and using Yuri’s cape as a blanket. Bernadetta is still wearing her signature mask, but her clothes have changed to more usual civilian attire. Yuri is nowhere to be seen.

Petra’s eyes lock onto Dorothea, like they always do. She’s surprised to find that Dorothea is watching her, too. She watches as the singer puts down her makeup wipe and grabs her phone. She types for a minute and makes a big show of hitting a button. Petra’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out quickly and glances at the text she received from Dorothy.

" _Guess the cat is out of the bag, huh? Still want a second date?”_


	4. Nor the Score of the Baritone Singer Singing His Sweet Romanza

**> >>Dorothea<<<**

Dorothea loves flying. She had wanted to fly ever since she was a child. She can still recall the first flight she went on with Manuela and Yuri nearly two years ago. It had been the most exciting thing she had ever done. Ever since then, she’d loved spending time in the air. She was also grateful that she didn’t get sick on flights like Hubert did.

Now, however, she couldn’t wait for the plane to land. Europe had been gorgeous and touring there had been fantastic, but there was something even better than Europe waiting at the airport. Her leg jiggled impatiently, causing her and Edelgard’s seats to shake a bit.

Edelgard glares at her, “Would you quit that? I know you’re excited to see your girlfriend but wiggling around like a mink isn’t going to make the plane land faster.”

“Oh please. You’ve been texting that Greek girl since we got on the plane.”

“And I’m not bothering anyone while I do so, Thea.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, “I for one, am very bothered by you acting like a lovesick teenager. This band only has room for one lovey-dovey lesbian and that’s me.”

Edelgard laughs, “You sound like Yuri.”

“Have you considered that Yuri actually sounds like me?”

“Considering you don’t usually act like this and Yuri does _constantly_ , I’d say that you’re picking it up from him.”

“Your excellent detective work prevails once again, Hresvelg.” 

A flight attendant’s voice comes over the speakers to let the passengers know that the plane was descending, and all electronics needed to be put into airplane mode and whatnot. Dorothea’s leg goes back to jiggling. Edelgard sighs and sends a text to her white-haired Greek girl.

Dorothea sighs in relief as she steps off the plane. Her eyes are searching immediately. Petra probably won’t recognize her. Manuela is very good at making sure the band is properly disguised to avoid attention in public.

Petra is sitting in the boarding area. She’s wearing a crop top and mini skirt that barely covers her thighs. Dorothea swallows thickly. There’s a pair of round reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She’s completely engrossed in her book of music theory. It’s the most beautiful sight Dorothea has ever seen, and she had seen the Norwegian fjords less than seventy-two hours ago.

Edelgard kicks the back of her calf, “Quit staring and go see her. We’ll get your luggage, so don’t worry about it. I’ll even keep it away from Yuri, so he doesn’t put a snake in your panties or something.”

“Thank you, Edie. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Dorothea smooths her shirt down over her breasts. It’s been nearly seven months since she’d seen Petra in person, and she’d be damned if she looked musty. She takes a deep breath and walks over to Petra. Petra’s dark eyes flicker up from the pages of her book.

For a moment, the two just stare at one another. Then Petra is standing and tugging on the collar of Dorothea’s shirt. Petra’s lips are on her and -G _oddess above-_ has Dorothea missed this. Petra’s hands are behind her head now, playing with the few loose strands of hair that have fallen out of Dorothea’s hat. Dorothea never wants her to stop. She bites Petra’s lip.

Petra releases Dorothea’s neck and pulls away. She tucks her head against Dorothea’s should and hums quietly as Dorothea rubs small circles into Petra’s hips.

“I have been missing you,” Petra whispers.

“I have thought about you every day. One day, I’m taking you to Europe. You’ll love it.”

“I would be liking that greatly. Perhaps you can use your superstar money and rent us a cabin in the mountains. It would be very romantic.”

“With you, sweetheart, a carboard box in Mississippi would be romantic.”

Petra giggles, “I am appreciating the sentiment, but let us not be trying it.”

“Right, if you want a cabin in the mountains, we’ll go to the Alps.”

“Not Mississippi.”

“Not Mississippi.”

Petra takes Dorothea’s hand and leads them towards the baggage claim. Dorothea watches as Yuri reaches for her bag only to be swatted away by Edelgard. Bernadetta smiles softly when she spots them and beckons them over. Dorothea gives Petra little tug and leads her over to the rest of the band.  
“Ah, the lady of the hour,” Hubert says, in typical Hubert fashion.

Yuri grins, “So, Petra, you’re coming to dinner with the band.”

“Um, no,” Dorothea says, “I want to take my girlfriend on a date without all of you idiots.”

“Too bad, so sad,” Yuri chirps.

Petra laughs, “It will be okay, Dorothea. We can be going to dinner with your band. We will be having much alone time now that you are done with the tour.”

Dorothea sighs, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The group piles into the van and Manuela starts the car. Thirty minutes later, she pulls into a public parking lot.

“I used to eat here a lot back when it first opened. One of my boyfriends was a chef here. He doesn’t work here anymore, and the food got better when he left, but it’s still one of my favorites,” Manuela says as she pushes open the door to Chi Café.

Dorothea breathes in the warm umami scent and smiles. It’s been ages since she was in a place like this. She’s sort of relieved. Having find dining every day for every meal was getting old. She sinks into a booth. Petra shimmies in beside her.

It isn’t until after they’ve ordered that the band turns their attention to Petra, just like Dorothea know they would. She can’t find it in herself to be angry. She’s certainly going to do the same to Edelgard’s white-haired Greek girl someday.

“So, Petra,” Edelgard begins, “I hear you like art.”

Petra fidgets a bit, “Yes, I am enjoying it.”

“What do you like about art?”

“Well, it is being very interesting to see how other people think. I could never make paintings, but some people are doing it so easily. It is fascinating.”

“Do you have a favorite painting?”

“I am not really liking paintings. I enjoy looking at them, but I am not having a favorite.”

“So if you don’t like paintings, what do you like?”

Petra hesitates, “Well when I was growing up in Oaxaca, my mother made many weavings. She was being very skilled. When she was done, she would be selling them to tourists. It is how we were making money.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Do you have any of her work, I’d love to see it.”

Petra shakes her head, “No.”

“Quit being so nice, Edelgard,” Yuri says. He pauses for moment. Dorothea prays that he doesn’t say anything horribly absurd, “Are you a gold digger?”  
“Goddess! Yuri! She didn’t even know I was rich when we met!” Dorothea snaps.

“It’s not like it’s a bad thing, if she is. I mean, we were gold diggers.”

“Please,” Manuela says, “don’t remind me.”

Petra seems a bit stunned by Yuri’s sudden question and Dorothea can’t exactly blame her. She stares at Yuri for a moment, “You are an asshole.”

The whole group erupts into laughter.

**> >>Petra<<<**

After they eat, the band leaves Petra and Dorothea alone. Petra’s heart is beating almost painfully against her ribs. Moths are filling her stomach and gnawing at her ribs like they’re an old t-shirt. Dorothea holds her hand.

They end up just walking around Chinatown. There isn’t a destination in mind. There’s just the two of them. They talk about small things. Unimportant ones. Neither of them wants to breach the horrible question that looms inside them both: What now?

It seems strange to Petra, that loving Dorothea was easier when they were an ocean apart. Now, there’s so much uncertainty. Dorothea is a public figure. If Petra continues to date her, she will be too. It’s a scary thought. So many people will judge her. Many will even hate her, simply for dating another woman, or for dating the woman they want.

Dorothea pulls her into a small shop. It’s dim and smells like old wood and tarnishing silver. It reminds Petra of her mother’s best friend. She’d had a large workroom that smelled just like this where she and Petra’s mother would sit for hours and weave. Petra never needed anything to occupy her. She’d always been entranced by the way the women’s hands had moved.

The shop owner is an older Chinese man with a soft smile. He doesn’t offer to help them with anything. He just sits behind the till and watches. The soft fabrics of homemade clothing draw Dorothea’s eyes and she leads Petra into a side room filled with clothes. She pulls a dress of a nearby hanger. It’s dark green with flowers sewn around the waist.

“This would look stunning on you.”

Petra looked at the dress and then back at Dorothea, “I am not thinking so.”

Dorothea shrugs and puts it back, “You’re acting weird.”

“Just because I am not wanting to put on a dress?”

“No. Even before now. You seem…reserved. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Everything is being perfect. It is just, I am not knowing how to be a good girlfriend.”

Dorothea laughs and kisses Petra’s cheek, “Don’t be silly. You’re a wonderful girlfriend.”

“I was being good girlfriend when you were far away. What if I am not being good now?”

“If there’s a problem in our relationship, we’ll talk it out, okay? Right now, I am the happiest woman in the world. I have a stunning girlfriend; whom I love.”

Petra hugs tucks her head against Dorothea’s breast. She likes having a tall girlfriend, “Okay. I am sorry for worrying. It is just that, you are being famous, and I am just…me.”

“Just you is who I fell in love with. Just you is who talks my ear off about art and music and taxidermy and food. Just you is perfect for just me.”

Petra stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against Dorothea’s. Everything is exactly as it should be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say: It was very rude for Taylor Swift to release a song called Dorothea after I had finished writing a music-centered Dorothea/Petra fic.


End file.
